You need to know Hohfeld! Why? Because W.N. Hohfeld’s typology of rights from his book Fundamental Legal Conceptions is fundamental. And useful!

Law students encounter the idea of right (moral or legal) early and often. But “rights talk” is frequently “loose talk.” Hohfeld is famous for exposing the ambiguity in the concept of a right and resolving that ambiguity with a typology of rights that distinguishes between claims, liberties, authorities, and immunities. This post is a quick and dirty introduction to Hohfeld for law students (especially first year law students) with an interest in legal theory.

Types of Rights and Correlative Duties

Lawyers tend to mush all legal rights together into a single category. The right to privacy, the right to freedom of speech, property rights, and civil rights—these diverse legal phenomena are frequently treated as if the “right” involved in these diverse cases was a single unambiguous type. Hohfeld’s first contribution was to distinguish different types of rights. Claim rights, for example, create corresponding obligations. Thus, my right to exclusive use of my land entails a corresponding duty of noninterference. You have a duty not to enter upon my land. But my property right also entails my liberty to use my land in a wide variety of ways—to build a house, plant a garden, and so forth. Correlated to that liberty is a correlative absence of inconsistent claim rights. You have no right to prevent me from building a house or planting a garden. Some legal rights involve powers over others. Thus, an employer has a right to control and direct the employee’s actions at work, and parents have authority over their children. Finally, there are immunities from authority. Thus, when children reach the age of majority or are legally emancipated they acquire immunities that disable the authority rights of their parents.

Implicit in our discussion so far is Hohfeld’s second big idea, which is that each kind of right (claim, liberty, authority, and immunity) has a correlative legal consequence for others. Claim rights have correlative duties. Liberty rights correlate with an absence of claims. Authority rights correlate with liabilities. Immunities correlate with the absence of authority.

Four Types of Rights

The following list enumerates Hohfeld’s basic schema, identifying each kind of right and the correlative legal consequence. P is the party with the right. Q represents the person or group of persons on whom the right has a legal effect. X represents the object of the right.

Claim Rights

Rights relation: P has a claim against Q to X.

Correlative relation: Q has a duty to P to X.

Liberty Rights

Rights relation: P has a liberty against Q to X.

Correlative relation: Q has no claim against P to not-X

Authority Rights:

Rights relation: P has authority over Q to X

Correlative relation: Q has a liability to P to X.

Immunity Rights

Rights relation: P has an immunity against Q to X.

Correlative relation: Q has a disability (no authority) against P to not-X.

Moral and Legal Rights

Hohfeld was interested in legal rights, but we can extend his scheme to moral rights. Thus, if I have a moral claim right to performance of a promise, you have a corresponding moral duty to perform. Of course, many legal rights are identical to (or substantially the same as) similar moral rights. Contracts, for example, create both moral and legal obligations. Some moral rights, however, may not be reflected in the law. For example, I may have a moral obligation not to discriminate on the basis of race when letting a room in my home, but at the same time have a legal liberty right to engage in such discrimination.

Our topic this week is “holism,” more particularly the idea that theories of the law are (or “should be” or “can be”) holistic. Legal holism can be captured in a famous slogan, “The law is a seamless web,” and the contemporary legal theorist who is most associated with legal holism is Ronald Dworkin.

And before we get on with it, a brief digression on the origins of the phrase. The idea of the law as a seamless web seems to be derived from a related idea--that history is a seamless web--found in the writiings of Frederic Maitland: "Such is the unity of all history that any one who endeavours to tell a piece of it must feel that his first sentence tears a seamless web." Frederic William Maitland, A Prologue to a History of English Law, 14 L.Querterly Rev. 13 (1898) (online version).

Ideas about legal holism may also have been influenced by philosophical ideas about holism and in particular "meaning holism"--a notion that is strongly associated with Quine.

The Law is a Seamless Web

The idea that the law is a seamless web is familiar to almost every law student, but what on earth does this phrase mean? I think the best initial approach to this idea is to place it in the context of a common-law system. Suppose we have an unsettled question of law (e.g. a question about proximate causation in tort law). The question is unsettled in our jurisdiction, so there is no binding precedent—no prior decision of a higher court addresses the issue. But the lack of binding precedent does not imply that precedent is irrelevant to our question. The judge deciding our case with a tricky proximate cause question will want to look at the cases that deal with analogous issue. Her search for relevant case law might begin with cases on causation in tort law, but from there, it could lead to other issues and distinct doctrinal fields. For example, causation in tort is analogous to causation in criminal law. So our judge might base her reasoning in part on the way an analogous question was decided in the criminal context. And causation also arises in a variety of other legal contexts, leading our judge to move from fields that are closely related to torts, to more distant topics, including environmental law, administrative law, or even tax. Moreover, questions of proximate causation are only partly about causation, they also involve judgments about responsibility and reasonableness of conduct. In a common law system, the law is a seamless web in the sense that common-law ideas connect with one another in complex relationships of consistency and mutual support. A tremor in one region of the web of the law can in principle resonate in other region.

Coherence and Holism

The idea that holism involves wide and deep relationships of consistency and mutual support can be captured by introducing a related notion coherence. We might say that legal holists believe that a principle of coherence applies to the law as a whole. Each proposition of law ought to be consistent with every other proposition. Coherence can require more than mere consistency, however. A system of law achieves coherence at a deeper level if the normative justifications for legal propositions are consistent and mutually supporting.

Cohererence can be local or global. The theory that the law is a seamless web can be rephrased as “the law is globally coherent,” and we might call that view “global legal holism.”

Herculean Holism

Ronald Dworkin’s theory, “law as integrity,” takes the idea that the law is seamless web to its logical conclusion. Dworkin illustrated his theory with an imaginary judge, Hercules. Because Hercules acts on the basis of the premise that the law is a seamless web, Hercules is required to construct the theory that best fits and justifies the law as a whole in order to decide any particular case. Given the holistic assumption that a change anywhere in the law can produce consequences everywhere, Hercules must constantly revise his theory—checking to assure himself that a recent change in the law of trusts does not have consequences for the best interpretation of the reasonable person standard in torts.

Of course, actual judges are not like Hercules in this regard. No actual judge could possible construct a theory of the whole law of her jurisdiction. Actual judges must make do with theories that are local rather than global in nature. This is not to say that no actual judge has a tacit (or even partially explicit) view about the way the law hangs together as whole. Indeed, some real world judges have views that account for many different regions of the law. The most intellectual judges (Richard Posner, for example) have comprehensive legal theories that provide consistent explanations across many different doctrinal fields. But even these Herculean judges cannot actually produce a theory that fits and justifies all of the law—that would take longer than a human lifespan permits and most of the work would be terribly dull.

Holism versus Particularism

So far, I’ve been presenting a fairly sympathetic view of legal holism. But holism is a controversial view in the law. One might believe that holism is domain specific. That is, it might be the case that all of tort law hangs together, but that tort law is a more or less closed system. It could be the case that criminal law operates on a different set of principles than those that operate in tort, and hence that conclusions reached in criminal law are different from those reached in tort law on analogous questions. Of course, the domain of coherence could be a higher or lower level of generality than doctrinal field. Perhaps, perhaps all of private law is coherent, but public law operates on different principles. Alternatively, perhaps the common law and statutory law form two different fields—each coherent within its own realm but not consistent with each other. Moving to the other end of the spectrum, it might be that the law governing the tort of negligence is coherent, but that negligence and battery operate on entirely different principles.

At the opposite end of the spectrum from global legal holism (“The law is a seamless web.”) there is at least logical space for a local legal particularism (“Take each case on its own merits.”). Legal particularism may be related to the analagous view in moral theory and the idea of the "priority of the particular."

Is Holism Normative, Descriptive, or Interpretive?

Before we come to a close, let’s address one final question: what kind of theory is legal holism? You may have notice that I’ve been deliberately ambiguous in my phrasing of holist claims using locutions like “is or ought to be.” One view of global legal holism is that it is a normative claim: the law ought to form a seamless web. Why? Well, that’s a big question, but one cluster of reasons for preferring consistency in the law centers around the rule of law values of predictability, certainty, and publicity.

Another view of global legal holism is that it is a descriptive theory. As a matter of fact, judges (in common law systems) strive for consistency. The phrase—the law is a seamless web—is couched as a descriptive claim. Of course, this will be a special sort of descriptive claim, because no one thinks that the law actually is fully consistent at the global level.

Yet another view of global legal holism is that it an interpretive theory. On this view, legal holism bears a relationship to the idea of the hermeneutic circle. The meaning of any given legal rule must be interpreted in light of the whole set of rules, and the meaning of the whole set depends on the meaning of the particular members. On this view, holism is quasi-descriptive and quasi-normative: legal interpretation both isimperfectly holistic and legal interpretation aims at global consistency.

Conclusion

The distinction between holism and particularism is quite useful. Once you begin to look, you will quickly find that many legal arguments depend on implicit assumptions about the presence or desirability of coherence in the law. In particular, it often edifying to look for how some legal arguments turn on assumptions about whether coherence should be global or local.

In 1975, Ronald Dworkin wrote Hard Cases (88 Harvard Law Review 1057 (1975) reprinted in Ronald Dworkin, Taking Rights Seriously ch 4 (Harvard University Press, 1977)). This is one of the most famous and influential articles in contemporary legal theory, and I would put it very high on my recommended legal-theory reading list. Lot's of Dworkin's ideas are very controversial, but one of his claims has become part of the way that many and perhaps most legal academics think about the law in general and the enterprise of judging in particular. I am referring to Dworkin's distinction between "fit" and justification" and his claim that when judges decide hard cases, they choose the interpretation of the law that best fits and justifies the existing legal landscape--the constitution, statutes, regulations, and common law.

As always, the Legal Theory Lexicon is aimed at law students (especially first year law students) with an interest in legal theory. I know you are all very busy at this time of year, so I will do my best to be concise.

The Basic Idea

Suppose a judge is deciding a hard case. It could be a common law case or a constitutional case or a statutory case. How do judges approach this task when they are confronted with a case in which the law is up for grabs? That is, how do judges decide cases where there is an unsettled question of law? Dworkin's basic idea is that the process of deciding a hard case has two dimensions--fit and justification. First, the judge might ask herself, "Of all the possible interpretations of the law that I could adopt as the basis for my decision, which one is consistent with the theory that best fits the existing legal landscape. Of all the rules I could adopt in this case, which ones are consistent with the relevant constitutional and statutory provisions and with the precedent." When the judge had identified the alternatives that meet the criterion of fit, it is possible that there will be more than one possibility that fits. If so, then the judge can go on to ask the question, "Of the interpretations of the existing law that fit the constitution, statutes, and case law, which is the best interpretation? Which of the possible legal rules that I could adopt is most consistent with the normative theory that provides the best justification for the law as a whole.

Fit

What does it mean to say that a given rule fits the legal landscape? Suppose you are a judge deciding whether your jurisdiction will adopt the rule of contributory negligence or will choose instead to follow the comparative negligence approach. It is possible that only one of these two rules fits the existing law in your jurisdiction. For example, if the legislature has mandated the contributory negligence rule by statute, then as a judge (even a Supreme Court judge), you would be obliged to follow the statute and decide the case before you on the basis of contributory negligence. On the other hand, suppose you are in a newly created jurisdiction. No statute or binding precedent requires either comparative or contributory negligence. Both rules fit the existing legal landscape. In that case, Dworkin argues, you would need to decide a question of justification.

Justification

What does it mean to say that a judge might prefer one rule over another on the basis of the criterion of justication? Let's continue with our example of the choice between contributory and comparative negligence. Since there is no statute or precedent that compels (or strongly guides) the choice, the judge must turn to some other basis in order to make her decision. She will need to get normative, i.e., to consider the normative justifications for tort law. Simplifying greatly, let's suppose our judge decides that the tort of negligence is best understood as a system of compensation and "risk spreading." She might then reason that the comparative negligence rule does a better job of serving this purpose than does a contributory negligence rule. Contributory negligence allows losses to go uncompensated when the plaintiff (victim) caused any of her own loss; comparative negligence does a better job of spreading the risk of accidents. [I know that this is a very crude argument, and I'm sure all of you can do better.]

In other words, the judge asks the question, "What normative theory best justifies the existing law and negligence?" And then proceeds to the question, "Given that justification of tort law, which of the alternative rules that I could apply to the case before me best serves the purposes of tort law?"

Two Kinds of Justification: Principle and Policy

In Hard Cases, Dworkin identified two different kinds of arguments that can be used to justify the law. He called these two different types arguments of "principle" and "policy." As understood by Dworkin, arguments of principle are arguments that appeal to ideas about fairness and rights. If you would like to know more about arguments of principle, a good place to begin is with the Legal Theory Lexicon entry on Deontlogy.

Arguments of policy, on the other hand, appeal to consequences. For example, if you argued that a comparative negligence rule is better than a contributory negligence rule because it provides optimal incentives for taking precautions against accidents, you would have made an argument of policy in Dworkin's sense.

If you are interested in the theoretical basis for arguments of policy, you could take a look at the Legal Theory Lexicon entry on Utilitarianism.

Dworkin himself argued that judges should consider arguments of principle and should not decide cases on the basis of arguments of policy. That feature of his theory is hugely controversial--as you could guess if, like most law students, you've heard endless discussion of policy in the classroom. But Dworkin could be right about "fit and justification," even if he is wrong that the dimension of justification is limited to principle and excludes policy.

Conclusion

It is very difficult to generalize about law school exams; they vary enormously. But many standard issue spotting essay questions have built into them a "hard case," an aspect of the fact pattern that is intended to trigger your discussion of the question, "What should the rule be?," with respect to some controversial legal issue. If you try to answer the question, "What should the rule be?," by telling your instructor, "Here is the majority rule," or "Here are two alternative rules; I don't know which one is the law, you will have missed the point of the question!

And that's where Dworkin comes in. You can use "fit and justification" as the basis for organizing your answer to a "What should the law be?" question. Begin with fit. Which possible rules are consistent with the settled law? Then move to justification. Of the rules that fit, which is the best rule? Now list the arguments of principle and policy for and against each of the plausible candidates. Be sure to come to a conclusion. That is, end with something like, "Adopting a rule of comparative negligence is required by the theory that best fits and justifies the existing law of torts."

Law students with a background in philosophy are sure to notice the strong influence of moral philosophy on legal thinking. Theories like Kant's moral philosophy have had a profound influence on the idea of fairness and on the conception of rights that is at the heart of deontological legal theory. Utilitarianism and the law reform agenda of Jeremy Bentham provide an important inspiration for the normative version of law and economics. But if you recently studied moral philosophy as an undergraduate or in graduate school, you might notice that something is missing. The moral philosophy pie can be cut in many ways, but the conventional slicing divides normative moral theory into three kinds: (1) deontological moral theories (e.g. Kant and contractualism), (2) consequentialist moral theory (e.g. utilitarianism and welfarism), and (3) aretaic moral theories (e.g. virtue ethics). Recently, however, a variety of legal theorists have begun to consider the implications of aretaic (virtue-centered) moral theory for the law.

This entry in the Legal Theory Lexicon series provides an introduction to "virtue jurisprudence." As always, the discussion is aimed at law students, especially first-year law students, with an interest in legal theory.

Modern Moral Philosophy and Contemporary Legal Theory

The Legal Theory Lexicon already includes entries on Utilitarianism and Deontology, two of the most influential approaches for moral philosophy. In an essay titled Modern Moral Philosophy, Elizabeth Anscombe famously noted persistent problems with the deontological and utilitarian approaches that dominated normative ethics when she wrote in 1958. Anscombe's suggestion was for moral philosophers to return to Aristotle, and that is just what happened. Starting in the 1960s and accelerating through the 1980s and 1990s, there was a trickle and then an avalanche of philosophical work on virtue ethics--an approach to moral theory that emphasizes character and the virtues--as opposed to right action (deontology) or good consequences (utilitarianism). A prior entry in the Legal Theory Lexicon provided an introduction to virtue ethics and you might want to review that before you continue with this post.

Modern legal theory has strong connections with modern moral philosophy. Historically, the connection is evident in the work of Jeremy Bentham: his work combined a conceptual separation of law and morality with a utilitarian program of legal reform. Contemporary legal scholarship frequently invokes general moral theories, including preference-satisfaction utilitarianism and deontological theories like Kant’s, to make arguments about what the law should be. Such normative legal theories are addressed to lawmakers (in the broad sense), including legislators and adjudicators. Developments in political philosophy, sparked by John Rawls’s A Theory of Justice and its libertarian and communitarian critics, have met with avid attention from the legal academy.

Virtue Ethics and Legal Theory

There is, however, an exception to general reflection of developments in moral philosophy in legal theory. Legal philosophy (as practiced by philosophers or academic lawyers) has only recently paid attention to one of the most significant developments in moral theory in the second half of the twentieth century, the emergence of virtue ethics.

An outpouring of articles and monographs attests to the interest of philosophers in virtue ethics. In the law, the situation has been different. The hegemony of deontological and utilitarian theories prevails, at least among legal theorists working in the common-law tradition. There are, however, a growing number of exceptions to this hegemony. A growing number of legal scholars have discussed virtue ethics in their work.

Towards a Virtue Jurisprudence

A full account of the implications of virtue ethics and epistemology for legal theory is a very large topic. Among the issues raised by virtue jurisprudence are the following:

Virtue ethics has implications for an account of the proper ends of legislation. If the aim of law is to make citizens virtuous (as opposed to maximizing utility or realizing a set of moral rights), what are the implications for the content of the laws?

Virtue ethics has implications for legal ethics. Current approaches to ethical lawyering emphasize deontological moral theory, i.e. duties to clients and respect for client autonomy, and these deontological approaches are reflected in the various codes of professional conduct that have been devised for lawyers, judges, and legislators. How can we reconceive legal ethics from a virtue-centered perspective?

Accounts of the virtue of justice (in particular, Aristotle’s and Aquinas’s theories of natural justice) have implications for debates between natural lawyers and legal positivists over the nature of law.

Much recent work on virtue jurisprudence has focused on the relationship between virtue and particular areas of substantive law. In the bibliography for this entry, you will find articles that discuss virtue and contract law and aretaic approaches to property law.

In this Legal Theory Lexicon post, however, I will discuss only one aspect of virtue jurisprudence--a virtue-centered theory of judging in general and the virtue of justice in particular. Virtue-centered theories of judging answer the question: How should judges decide the controversies that are presented to them? A virtue-centered theory of judging provides an answer along the following lines: Judges should decide cases in accord with the virtues, or judges should render the decisions that would be made by a virtuous judge.

A Virtue-Centered Theory of Judging

How would a virtue-centered theory of judging go? Let’s begin with the uncontroversial idea that good judging is inconsistent with the worst judicial vices and that it requires some minimal set of judicial virtues.

The Thin Theory of Judicial Vice--Begin with the assumption that humans have characters. More particularly, let’s assume that humans have dispositional traits that incline them to behave in more or less predictable ways. Our vocabulary is rich with words to describe such traits. We use terms like “coward,” “procrastinator,” “reliable,” “hard-working,” “studious,” “curious,” “sensitive,” and so forth. Following Aristotle, let’s sort the traits, picking out those which we count as human excellences, “virtues,” and those which we count as defects, “vices.” Let’s set the virtues and any traits that are neutral to the side, and focus on the defects—traits like cowardice, gluttony, avariciousness, foolishness, and so forth.

Are there judicial vices that are inconsistent with excellence in judging? Once asked, the question answers itself. Hardly anyone thinks that corruption and incompetence are consistent with excellence in judging.

We can systematize the worst judicial vices, borrowing Aristotle’s distinction between intellectual and moral character traits. There are two important intellectual vices that are inconsistent with excellent judging. The first of these is judicial stupidity. Judges who suffer from this vice in its worst form lack the intelligence (and hence also the knowledge) necessary to do the complex intellectual work required of judges. They do not know what the rules of law are, and they are unable to see how they could be applied in particular fact situations. The second intellectual vice is judicial foolishness. Even a very smart judge can have terrible practical judgment. A foolish judge may know the law, but he cannot discern the difference between the rules that are important to the case and those that are only marginally relevant. Foolish judges are likely to make impractical demands are the lawyers and parties who appear before them.

There are also moral vices that should are inconsistent with excellent adjudication. The most obvious of these is corruption. Judges should not accept bribes. Although judges are only infrequently in physical danger, they are more frequently faced with situations in which rendering the legally correct decision might injure their popularity, social standing, or opportunities for promotion or nonjudicial work. Hence we should not select civil cowards for judicial office. Judges are often placed in anger-inducing situations. A judge who is prone to fly off the handle at small provocations is not likely to be effective in the courtroom, and hence we ought not to select the hot-tempered for judicial office.

What I have offered is a thin theory of judicial vice. This is a thin theory, because it rests on very weak assumptions about what counts as bad character. So far as I can see, no sensible normative account of judicial selection provides good reasons to reject the normative implications of the thin theory of judicial vice. No one wants stupid, foolish, corrupt, cowardly, or hot-tempered judges. Of course, these vices are not always apparent when candidates are nominated and confirmed for judicial office. There are, I am afraid, some judges on the bench today who possess the full range of these vices.

The Thin Theory of Judicial Virtue--The next step in our investigation of the judicial virtues is simple. If you accept the thin theory of judicial vice, you should also accept a thin theory of judicial virtues. Why? The basic reason is conceptual: virtue is required for the absence of vice. To select a judge who lacks the intellectual defect of judicial stupidity, you must select a candidate who has the corresponding virtue of judicial intelligence. To avoid, civic cowardice, you must select a judge with the virtue of civic courage. To avoid corruption, you must select a judge with the virtue of temperance. To avoid, ill temper, you must look for candidates who have judicial temperaments. A fully-developed virtue jurisprudence would flesh out this list of judicial virtues--specifying the character traits and mental abilities that make for good judging.

A Preliminary List of the Judicial Virtues So let's make a tentative list of judicial virtues:

Judicial Sobriety--Sober as a judge" is the say that expresses the idea that judges should have what was classically called the virtue of temperance. Good judging requires that one’s desires be in order. This is clear when the temperate judge is contrasted to the judge who lacks the ability to control her appetites. Judges who care too much for their own pleasures are prone to temptation; they are likely to be swayed from the course of reason and justice by the temptations of pleasure. A libertine judge may indulge in pleasures that interfere with the heavy deliberative demands of the office. Hence, the saying “sober as a judge,” reflects the popular understanding that excessive indulgence in hedonist pleasures would interfere with excellence in the judicial role.

Judicial Courage--A second virtue, judicial courage is a form of “civic courage.” The courageous judge is willing to risk career and reputation for the ends of justice.

Judicial Temperament--A third virtue, judicial temperament, corresponds to the vice of bad temper. The traditional concern in judicial selection with judicial temperament is illuminated by Aristotle's account of the virtue of good temper or proates: the disposition to anger that is proportionate to the provocation and the situation. The virtue of good temper requires that judges feel outrage on the right occasions for the right reasons and that they demonstrate their anger in an appropriate manner.

Judicial Intelligence--The corrective for the vices of judicial stupidity and ignorance is a form of sophia or theoretical wisdom. I shall use the phrase “judicial intelligence” to refer to excellence in understanding and theorizing about the law. A good judge must be learned in the law; she must have the ability to engage in sophisticated legal reasoning. Moreover, judges need the ability to grasp the facts of disputes that may involve particular disciplines such as accounting, finance, engineering, or chemistry. Of course, judicial intelligence is related to theoretical wisdom in general, but the two are not necessarily identical. The talents that produce theoretical wisdom in the law may be different from those that produce the analogous intellectual virtue in physics, philosophy, or microbiology. Or it may be that theoretical wisdom is the same for all these disciplines. If this is the case, then judicial intelligence may simply be general theoretical wisdom supplemented by the skills or knacks that produce fine legal thought combined with deep knowledge of the law.

Judicial Wisdom--The final virtue on my short list is the corrective for bad judgment or foolishness. I shall use the phrase “judicial wisdom” to refer to a judge’s possession of the virtue of phronesis or practical wisdom: the good judge must possess practical wisdom in her selection of the proper legal ends and means. Practical wisdom is the virtue that enables one to make good choices in particular circumstances. The person of practical wisdom knows which particular ends are worth pursuing and knows which means are best suited to achieve those ends. Judicial wisdom is simply the virtue of practical wisdom as applied to the choices that must be made by judges. The practically wise judge has developed excellence in knowing what goals to pursue in the particular case and excellence in choosing the means to accomplish those goals. In the literature of legal theory, Karl Llewellyn’s notion of “situation sense” captures much of the content of the notion that judicial wisdom corresponds to the intellectual virtue of phronesis.

This abstract account of judicial wisdom can be made more concrete by considering the contrast between practical wisdom and theoretical wisdom in the judicial context. The judge who possesses theoretical wisdom is the master of legal theory, with the ability to engage in sophisticated legal reasoning and insight into subtle connections in legal doctrine. But even a judge who possesses judicial intelligence is not necessarily a reliably good judge, even if she employs the correct decision procedure in her judicial decision-making. Why not? An answer to this question begins by clarifying the distinction between judicial intelligence and judicial wisdom.

Beyond a Thin Theory of Judicial Virtue

A thin theory of judicial virtue should prove uncontroversial because it avoids the tough questions about judging. Formalists and realists, conservatives and liberals—all can endorse a thin theory of judicial virtue, because thin theories don’t answer hard questions. We can distinguish thin theories of judicial virtue from theories that are “thick.” A thick theory of judicial virtue expands the list of judicial excellences to include characteristics of mind and will that are controversial. Corresponding to any particular normative theory of judging we can postulate a thick theory of judicial virtue that specifies those dispositions and capacities that are required for excellent judging according to the criteria provided by the particular theory.

An example may help. Consider Dworkin’s imaginary judge, Hercules, who decides cases by constructing the theory that fits and justifies the law as a whole; this task can only be accomplished by someone who is able to appreciate legal complexity and to see the subtle interconnections between various legal doctrines summarized in the slogan, “the law is a seamless web.” Moreover, Dworkin’s theory requires judges to have a special concern for the coherence of the law, a virtue we might call “judicial integrity.” But other normative theories of judging may not value this characteristic. For example, “judicial integrity” might not be important to an act-utilitarian theory of judging. Perhaps, the act-utilitarian would consider Hercules to be obsessed with consistency—the hobgoblin of a foolish mind.

Instrumental and Virtue-Centered Theories

Thick theories of judicial virtue may be divided in two kinds, instrumental and virtue-centered. Instrumental theories of judicial virtue are those which begin with some independent criteria for what constitutes a good judicial decision and then selects a list of judicial virtues based on those criteria. For example, many normative theories of judging are decision (or outcome) centered. A decision-centered theory offers criteria for what should count as a good, right, just, or legally valid decision. For a decision-centered theory of virtue, the notion of a correct decision is primary and the judicial virtues are derived from it. Thus, Dworkin’s description of Hercules begins with the criteria for good decisions and then constructs the ideal judge who is able to render such decisions. By way of contrast, a virtue-centered theory does not proceed in this way. Rather, a virtue-centered theory begins with the an account of the virtuous judges as primary and then proceed to derive the notion of a virtuous decision from it.

A Virtue-Centered Theory

So what would a virtue-centered theory look like? This is just a blog post, so I can only give you a brief outline. For the sake of simplicity and clarity, we can formulate a virtue-centered theory of judging in the form of five definitions:

A judicial virtue is a naturally possible disposition of mind or will that when present with the other judicial virtues reliably disposes its possessor to make correct decisions. The judicial virtues include but are not limited to temperance, courage, good temper, intelligence, wisdom, and justice.

A virtuous judge is a judge who possesses the judicial virtues.

A virtuous decision is a decision made by a virtuous judge acting from the judicial virtues in the circumstances that are relevant to the decision.

A lawful decision is a decision that would be characteristically made by a virtuous judge in the circumstances that are relevant to the decision. The phrase “legally correct” is synonymous with the phrase “lawful” in this context.

The central normative thesis of a virtue-centered theory of judging is that judges ought to be virtuous and to make virtuous decisions. Judges who lack the virtues should aim to make lawful or legally correct decisions, although they may not be able to do this reliably given that they lack the virtues. Judges who lack the judicial virtues ought to develop them. Judges ought to be selected on the basis of their possession of (or potential for the acquisition of) the judicial virtues.

Conclusion

Of course, this very short introduction raises many more questions than it answers. But I hope that even this very sketchy account of one aspect of virtue jurisprudence has sparked your interest. Some of the most interesting applications of virtue ethics to legal theory can be found in torts and criminal law, and we haven't even touched on those. Another very interesting set of questions arises from the notion that the aim of the law is to inculcate virtue--an idea that may be at odds with pluralist idea that morals is a matter of individual choice.

One of the most important topics in legal theory is “legal interpretation,” the theory of the derivation of meaning from legal texts. Of course, legal interpretation is a very large topic, with several different dimensions and approaches. This post will focus on “textualism,” and provide some introductory ideas about interpretive theory in general. As always, the Legal Theory Lexicon is designed for law students—especially first year law students—with an interest in legal theory.

Four Levels of Interpretive Theory

I find it helpful to separate out four different “levels” at which theories of legal interpretation can operate:

Level Two: Communicative Theories of Interpretation--A second kind of theory aims at the recovery of the linguistic meaning (or "communicative content") of a text.

Level Three: Normative Theories of Interpretation—A third kind of theory addresses the normative question, “What should legal interpretations (or constructions) aim at?” Among the answers to this question are: (a) the morally best reading of the legal text; (b) the intentions of the authors of the legal text, and (c) the plain meaning of the legal text.

Level Four: Methodological Theories of Interpretation—A fourth kind of theory aims to provide practical advice to legal actors (judges, lawyers, administrative officials, and citizens) about the techniques they can use to interpret various types of legal texts.

Textualism

Textualism, the subject of this post, can operate at the second, third, or fourth levels. That is, textualism could be the view that what legal texts really mean (as a "fact of the matter") is their plain meaning. Or textualism could be the view that legal interpreters ought to adopt constructions of legal texts that correspond to their plain meaning, even if that does not correspond to the linguistic meaning or communicative content of the text.. Or textualism could simply be a practical technique—a method that judges should employ. In this post, the primary focus will be on levels two and three—textualism as a semantic or normative theory—with some discussion of level four (textualism as practical methodology).

The Plain Meaning of the Text

Let’s begin with a basic question: what do we mean when we say “the plain meaning of the text.” A really good answer to that question would require us to develop a theory of meaning in general, but we must avoid that enterprise--at least for the purposes of this post. At one level, the idea of plain meaning is pretty simple. The plain meaning of a legal text is the meaning that would be understood by regular folks who were competent speakers of the language and who knew that they were reading a statute (or court decision, etc.).

But this preliminary formulation is too simple. Some laws are meant for all citizens (e.g., criminal statutes) and some are meant only for specialists (e.g., some sections of the tax code). A text that means one thing in a legal context, might mean something else if it were in a technical manual or a novel. So the plain meaning of a legal text is something like the meaning that would be understood by competent speakers of the natural language in which the text was written who are within the intended readership of the text and who understand that the text is a legal text of a certain type.

What "Plain Meaning" Is Not

Another way to understand plain meaning is to contrast this idea with others. Here are some:

Literal Meaning. The literal meaning of a text is provided by its semantic content alone, with no consideration of context. Literal meaning is sparser than plain meaning, because the conventional semantic meaning of many words and phrases is very sparse, with contextual disambiguation or precisification enriching the plain meaning.

Purposive Meaning. Sometimes we use the word "meaning" to represent the purpose for which a text was written. Purposive interpretation is a rival of textualism.

Reasonable Meaning: The plain meaning of a text may not be the best meaning (from the perspective of some policy goal or normative theory). The plain meaning of a text may not be the "reasonable"or "desirable" meaning.

An Excursion into Speakers Meaning and Sentence Meaning

Textualism can be illuminated by an excursion into what is sometimes called speech act theory, and in particular, by looking at the concepts of “speaker’s meaning” and “sentence meaning.”

Speaker’s Meaning and Sentence Meaning

This idea of plain meaning assumes a distinction that can be formulated in terms of the difference between speaker’s meaning and sentence meaning. The speaker’s meaning of a given utterance (or author’s meaning of a given text) is the meaning that the speaker intended the audience to glean for the utterance (or text). This involves a reflexive set of expectations. What does that mean? When I write a text, I understand that the readers know certain things about my having authored the text. When I try to communicate, I take these expectations into account in deciding how to use language to communicate a certain meaning. For example, if I know that my readers know that I know that they know a particular convention, then I can use that convention to communicate to them. (By the way, there are no typos in the prior sentence, all those “knows” are in there for a reason.)

So when I blog, I know that the readers of blogs assign a particular meaning to the word “post,” and I also know that my readers know that I know that they know this blogospheric convention. So I can use the term “post” to refer to blog entries with confidence that my readers will understand what I mean. On the other hand, if I were writing about blogging for an audience that had never encountered a blog, I would probably need to define the term “post,” before I used it, and if I used the term “post” without defining it, then my audience might believe I was referring to mail and not blog entries.

In other words, when someone speaks or writes for a particular audience on a particular occasion, the speaker or author can take into account what she knows about the audience, what the audience knows about her, but only insofar as the speaker knows that the audience knows what the speaker knows about the audience.

Speaker’s meaning can be distinguished from sentence meaning. Sentence meaning is the meaning that an utterance has when the audience is unaware of the speaker’s intentions. When we identify sentence meaning, it is as if we were imaging a sot of generic speaker, who uttered the sentence in a generic context. Or putting this a bit differently, sentence meaning is the meaning we would assign sentences when we know that the speaker or author can’t assume that we are aware of special conventions about meaning.

Legal Texts, Sentence Meaning, & Speaker’s Meaning

Legal texts are sometimes intended for a timeless, generic readership. The authors of legislation, for example, know that many different actors (judges, lawyers, administrative officials, and ordinary citizens) will read the statute for an extended period of time in a variety of different conditions. Many of these readers will not be able to afford access to analysis of the legislative history of the statute; they will simply read the statute itself. Of course, they will know that the text they are reading is a statute, and they will therefore have a fair amount of knowledge about the likely intended meaning of various terms and phrases. Moreover, the legislature knows that the readers of statutes will have this knowledge. So it might make sense to assume that the speaker’s meaning that should be assigned to a legal text is a special version of the sentence meaning of the text, e.g. legal sentence meaning.

The Case for Textualism

If we view textualism as a semantic theory of interpretation, the question we need to ask is whether the plain meaning is the linguistic meaning of the text. There is no general answer to this question--it all depends on the nature of the text. Texts that are directed to a particular audience on a particular occasion may have speaker's meaning. But in general legal contexts that are directed to the public at large will have sentence meaning--that is, their meaning will be a function of the conventional semantic meaning of the text and not the intentions of a particular speaker.

But if we view textualism as a normative theory of interpretation, we need to ask to ask why interpreters of legal texts should aim for interpretations that yield that “plain meaning of the text.” The usual answer to this question is that plain meaning best serves the rule of law values of publicity, predictability, certainty, and stability of the law. One of the important rule of law values is publicity: the law should be accessible to ordinary citizens. Ordinary citizens are likely to interpret statutes to have their plain meaning, because ordinary folks rarely have the training to understand legislative history and even if they did have such training, it would simply be too costly to analyze the legislative history of statutes to determine their meaning.

Lawyers who counsel citizens and organizations do have the training to analyze legislative history, but can more easily and cheaply discern the plain meaning of a statute than some special meaning that only becomes clear once the legislative history is consulted. Moreover, analysis of legislative history can be quite complex, because some sources of legislative history (e.g. the statements of floor managers) are thought by some to be more reliable than others (e.g. the statements of opponents of a bill or of the author of a bill). Because of the complexity of statutory interpretation, lawyers are likely to disagree about the meaning of legislative history and to err when predicting how a court will interpret legislative history.

The same difficulties that afflict lawyers also plague judges. Moreover, most legal research done for federal judges is done by very young lawyers serving as law clerks. This group usually lacks experience in researching legislative history, and their performance is likely to be highly variable. Moreover, because legislative history will frequently contain many conflicting, ambiguous, and vague statements, it is possible that legislative history is easily subject to manipulation, giving judges the opportunity to support their own policy preferences with evidence of the “intentions of the legislature.”

Textualism as a Practical Methodology

Even if textualism does not provide the best semantic or normative theory of legal interpretation, it might be the case that textualism does provide the best practical method of interpretation given the capacities of real world judges and officials. Suppose that we want to interpret statutes to achieve the purposes of the legislature. At first blush, it might seem that the best way to do this would be to have courts and officials employ an intentionalist methodology, combing the legislative record for evidence of legislative intent. But as a practical matter, it may turn out that judges aren’t very good at doing this. So it might be the case that real-world judges are more likely to implement legislative purposes by employing a fairly simple plain-meaning approach as methodology for statutory interpretation. And to the extent that legislators know that judges will employ this approach, legislators could draft with the expectation that judges will use a plain-meaning methodology, which presumably would lead to even closer fit between the plain meaning and the achievement of legislative purpose.

Conclusion

“Textualism” is just one of many approaches to the theory of legal interpretation, but it is an especially good place to begin thinking about issues of interpretation in law. One of the very best ways to become a sophisticated thinker about these issues is to take a really good course in statutory interpretation. Not so long ago, statutory interpretation was considered a dead field, but today there is a tremendous flowering of interesting and exciting scholarship about the interpretation of statutes. I hope that this post has whetted your appetite!

One of the most powerful ideas that legal theory borrows from economics is the idea of a "public good." Sooner or later law students learn that within the framework of contemporary neoclassical economics, the standard line is that public goods (e.g. national security) should be provided by government whereas private goods (e.g., automobiles) ought to be provided by markets. For legal theorists, the line between public and private goods tracks one of the important fault lines in the law--between the private law fields of property, contract, tort, and so forth and public law fields such as environmental law, administrative law, and constitutional law. This post provides a basic introduction to the economic distinction between public and private goods for law students (especially first year law students) with an interest in legal theory.

It may be helpful to quickly preview the basic idea. So here goes:

Public goods have two characteristics--nonrivalrousness and nonexcludability. For example, consumption of national defense is nonrivalrous (my being protected by the U.S. armed forces doesn't diminish your protection). National defense is a nonexcludable good: the Army cannot say to Mexico, "Solum hasn't paid his national defense bill, "Go ahead and attack him."

Private goods are rivalrous and excludable. If I own a laptop computer, my use of it diminishes your ability to use it; therefore, my consumption of the laptop rivals yours. Moreover, I can exclude you from the use of my laptop (by locking it up when I am not using it).

On the neoclassical picture, we use markets to provide goods like laptops (that are excludable and rivalrous), but government provides goods like national defense (that are nonexcludable and nonrivalrous).

Before we go any further, let's make sure we agree about how we are using the phrase "public good." This is important because the same phrase is used for different purposes in different contexts. So let's stipulate to the following:

The phrase "public good" or "public goods" shall be used in this post to refer to the economists’ idea of goods (in the broad sense that includes both "goods" and "services") that meet the criteria of nonrivalrousness and nonexcludability.

The phrases "public interest" or "common good" shall be used to refer to the idea of goods that benefit the public at large as distinguished from goods or interests that benefit a faction (or "special interest group").

The phrase "public resource" shall be used to refer to private goods that are owned by the government or held in trust for the public. National parks are indisputably public resources, but it may not be the case that they are public goods in the economic sense.

We could use the phrase "public good" to refer to the public interest or to public resources, but for the purposes of this post, let's stipulate that "public good" shall be reserved for the economic sense of the phrase.

The Criteria for Public Goods

There are two criteria by which public goods and distinguished from private goods. A good is public only if it is both nonrivalrous and nonexcludable. A good is private only if it is both rivalrous and excludable. (We will deal with the mixed cases in just a bit.)

"Rivalrousness" is a property of the consumption of a good. Consumption of a good is rivalrous if consumption by one individual X diminished the opportunity of other individuals, Y, Z, etc., to consume the good. Some goods are rivalrous because they are "used up." If I drink a glass of Heitz Martha's Vineyard, then you cannot drink that same glass of wine. If I set off a firecracker, you cannot set off the same firecracker. Other goods are rivalrous because of crowding effects. If I am using the free internet terminal at the student lounge, then you cannot use the same time slice of the terminal--because only one person can sit in front of the screen at the same time.

"Excludability" is also a property of consumption of a good. It is helpful to distinguish two forms of excludability: (1) excludability through self help, and (2) excludability through law. If I want to exclude you from my land, I can build a fence--the exclusion results from self help. But if I want to exclude you from copying a novel that I've written and I want to make the novel generally available for sale, self help will not work. (It would be ridiculously expensive to hire a guard to monitor each copy or every photocopy machine.) Government, however, can make unauthorized copying a criminal offense or actionable civil wrong, thereby creating exclusion through law.

Markets and Government

The conventional view is that markets should provide private goods and government should provide public goods. The case for market provision of private goods relies on the idea of Pareto efficiency. The weak Pareto Principle is the simple idea that if some action would make at least one person better off and no one worse off, then that action is good. If we have a private good, e.g. a widget, and a willing buyer and seller, then allowing the sale is Pareto efficient: the buyer prefers the widget to the money and the seller prefers the money to the widget. If we assume that the transaction has no external costs (harms to third parties), then allowing the transaction makes buyer and seller better off and hence is required by the weak Pareto principle.

But when we come to public goods, markets simply don't work. Why not? Most simply, because if a good is nonexcludable, then no one will pay for it. Suppose someone goes into the business of cleaning the air with a pollution removal machine. I won't voluntarily pay for this service, because I will be able to breathe the air even if I don't pay. If a private firm offered to defend me against foreign invaders, I won't voluntarily sign on. My individual payment would have a negligible effect on the size of the armed force. If others pay, I don't need to. If others don't pay, then my payment won't do any good. Of course, you will recognize that I am describing the free rider problem, a form of the Prisoner's Dilemma. Because markets cannot provide public goods, governments should.

As you might expect, the argument for government provision of public goods and market provision of private goods is controversial. Socialists argue that governments may do a better job of providing private goods, because government planning can create welfare benefits that cannot be realized by markets. Libertarian legal theorists argue that markets can provide most if not all private goods for various reasons, including arguments that nonexcludability can often be overcome by ingenious market solutions. I won't get into either the socialist or the libertarian critique of the argument for market provision of private goods and government provision of public goods, but you should know that these criticisms have been extensively developed.

The Expanded Typology: Public, Private, Toll, and Common Pool Goods

So far, we have been assuming that excludability and rivalrousness go together and hence that there are only two categories, public goods and private goods. In fact, it is possible to have a good that is rivalrous but nonexcludable or one that is nonrivalrous but excludable. So there are four categories, not two:

Public goods are nonrivalrous and nonexcludable.

Private goods are rivalrous and excludable.

Toll goods are nonrivalrous and excludable.

Common pool goods are rivalrous and nonexcludable.

Table One shows the four categories as a two-by-two matrix:

We've covered the first two categories, but we need to consider categories three and four. So let's do that now.

Toll Goods and Intellectual Property

A toll good is characterized by nonrivalrous consumption but excludability. Suppose we have a highway in a rural area, where the capacity of the highway would never be approached even if access were free. Nonetheless, use of the highway can be limited by the installation of toll booths. This means that we can charge for access to the highway. Economists call goods that are nonrivalrous but excludable "toll goods."

One of the most important applications of the concept of a toll good in legal theory arises in the context of intellectual property. A simplified version of the conventional story goes something like this. Without intellectual property rights created by law, the information (e.g. the invention or composition) would be a pure public good. In a world without intellectual property, for example, the first copy of a new book could be copied by the first purchasers. This copy could then be copied by others. Eventually, the "free" copies would dominate the market. And this would destroy the incentives of authors to write! (More on the question whether this is right towards the end of this post.)

Intellectual property law comes to the rescue. By enforcing patents and copyrights through legal sanctions, intellectual property law transforms information from a public good to a toll good. Intellectual property law creates excludability, but not rivalrousness.

Common Pool Goods and the "Tragedy of the Commons"

Common pool goods are rivalrous but non excludable. An example might be the fish resource in those portions of the ocean that are outside national waters (the high seas). This resource is rivalrous, because over fishing can result in a reduction of the stock of fish. But excludability is difficult to establish. Self-help would work for a localized fishing area where the fish population does not range over a large area; in theory a patrol boat could establish a virtual fence. But this solution won't work if the fish population ranges over a wide area of the high seas. Unless some international treaty regime can establish enforceable quotas, the result may be a "tragedy of the commons." Each fisher has an incentive to take the most she can, but the result of all fishers doing this is a depletion in the stock of fish that harms everyone. (Once again, we have a version of the Prisoner's Dilemma.)

Club Goods

We are almost done, but we have one or two more ideas to pick up. One is the idea of a "club good." A club good is a good where the utility of each individual's consumption of the good is a function of the number of others who consume the good. Take a golf course. If too many people try to use the course simultaneously, then the utility that each derives from the experience goes down. Golfers have to wait for tee times, the course is crowded, and so forth. In other words, there are "crowding" problems. One solution to such problems is to form a "club," which limits the number of persons with the right to use the golf course.

Private Goods and the "Tragedy of the Anticommons"

And finally, we should note the flip side of the tragedy of the commons, dubbed by Frank Michelman, "the tragedy of the anticommons." This refers to the phenomenon where ownership in a resource has been divided among so many owners that transaction costs and holdout problems prevent Pareto efficient transactions from occurring. For example, when property was "privatized" in the former Soviet Union, a single apartment building might end up with many, many fractional owners, including ownership interests by various government entities and the residents of the building. In theory, every owner must agree before a transaction involving the building could take place. Given the large number of owners, the costs of completing the transaction and paying off the holdouts (those who withhold consent in order to increase their share of the profits) can make the transaction economically unattractive. This is a case where the market is incapable of efficiently allocating a pure private good.

Conclusion

The public/private goods distinction is basic to a variety of topics in legal theory. Whenever you encounter a resource allocation problem, ask yourself, "Is this resource a public, private, toll, or common pool good?" And then ask, "Could a change in the legal rules governing this resource change its status?" Although the terminology may be daunting at first, the concepts are really very simple and straightforward.

Some ideas seem to be endlessly debated. We might all agree that "justice" is a good thing, but some of us think that justice boils down to counting the utility of each individual equally, while others think that justice is a matter of respecting basic human rights. Utilitarians might all agree that maximizing expected utility should be the aim of right action, but disagree about what "utility" is. Most torts theorists might agree that causation between an act of the defendant and harm to the plaintiff is an element most or all forms of tort liability, but disagree about what "causation" means. One of the niftiest tricks in legal theory is to handle cases like this with the concept/conception distinction. The "concept" of justice is the general idea, but different political theorists have different "conceptions" of justice. The concept of "utility" is shared by all utilitarians, but eudaimonistic utilitarianism maintains that the best conception of utility is happiness, while hedonistic utilitarianism holds that the best conception is pleasure.

This post provides an introduction to the concept/conception distinction for law students (especially first-year law students) with an interest in legal theory.

Essentially Contested Concepts

So far as I know, the concept/conception distinction originates with "Essentially Contested Concepts," a paper written by the philosopher Walter Bryce Gallie in 1956. Gallie was dealing with a problem in the philosophy of language. People don't seem to agree on the criteria for application of words like "justice," "right" or "good." We might think that disagreement reflects ambiguity (such words have different senses). In that case, disagreements about justice would be pseudo-disagreements. Gallie thought that explanation was incorrect, and came up with a theory that would preserve our intuition that when people disagree about the nature of justice, there disagreement is real and genuine--not merely linguistic confusion.

The core of Gallie's argument was the idea that certain moral concepts are "essentially contested." "Good," "right," and "just," for example, are each moral concepts which seem to have a common or shared meaning. That is, when I say, that the alleviation of unnecessary suffering is good, you understand what I mean. But it may be that you and I differ on the criteria for the application of the term "good." You may think that a state of affairs is good to the extent that it produces pleasure or the absence of pain, while I may think that the criteria for "good" make reference to the conception of a flourishing human life, lived in accord with the virtues.

Back to "good."

But in the case of "good," we seem to be using the same concept. I think that the good really ishuman flourishing and not pleasure; you have the opposite opinion. So we are contesting the meaning of the concept "good," and each of us has a different conception of that concept.

So when Gallie claimed that some concepts were essentially contested, his idea was that we might never reach agreement on the criteria for application of the concepts. If a concept is essentially contested, then it is in the nature of the concept that we disagree about the criteria for its application.

Two Uses of the Concept/Conception Distinction

Rawls on the Concept and Conceptions of Justice

Perhaps the most famous use of the concept/conception distinction is found in the political philosopher John Rawls's famous book, A Theory of Justice. Rawls appeals to the distinction between the concept of justice and particular conceptions of justice. His theory, justice as fairness, is defended as the best conception of justice. Notice that as used by Rawls, the concept/conception distinction does not imply that the concept of justice is essentially contested. It might be the case that we would eventually come to agreement on the criteria for a just society. In other words, not all contested concepts are essentially contested concepts.

Dworkin on Concepts and Conceptions in Legal Reasoning

Another well-known use of the concept/conception distinction is found in Ronald Dworkin's theory, law as integrity. You may know that Dworkin uses a hypothetical judge, Hercules, to illustrate his theory. Suppose that Hercules is interpreting the United States Constitution. He finds that the Equal Protection Clause of the Constitution makes reference to the concept of equality. In order to decide some case, about affirmative action say, Hercules must decide what equality means. To do this, Hercules will determine what conception of equality best fits and justifies our legal practices--narrowly, the equal protection clause cases but more broadly, the whole of American constitutional law. For Dworkin, "equality" is not an "essentially contested concept," because Dworkin does not take the position that there cannot be stable criteria for the meaning of concepts like equality. Rather, "equality" is an interpretive concept--a concept that is subject to interpretation. Interpretive concepts like equality are, in fact, contested, and may, in fact, always be contested, but this is not an "essential" (necessary) characteristic of interpretive concepts.

Conclusion

The law is full of contested concepts, and one of the jobs of legal theorists is to determine which conceptions of these concepts are the most defensible. Indeed, because contested concepts come up all the time, the concept/conception distinction is extremely useful as a tool for clarifying the nature of disagreements about what the law is and what it should be. When you next run into an idea like "justice," "equality," "utility," or "causation," ask yourself whether different conceptions of that concept are at work.

Are the unborn human persons? What is the difference between legal and moral personhood? What does it mean to say that a corporation is a legal person? Do the most intelligent animals deserve the rights of moral or legal persons? These questions are likely to arise sooner or later for most law students. This entry in the Legal Theory Lexicon explores the idea of personhood, moral, legal, and human. As always, this post is intended as an introduction for law students (especially first-year law students) with an interest in legal theory.

Persons and Humans

The terms "human" and "person" have related meanings, but as used by most legal theorists, these terms are distinct. Here's one definition of "human":

a bipedal primate mammal (Homo sapiens)

And person is sometimes defined as a "human" or "individual". But "person" has another meaning, one that distinguishes the concept of person from the concept of human. Suppose, for example, an intelligent alien species were to arrive on Earth (or humans were to encounter them elsewhere). If the members of the aliens displayed evidence of human-like intelligence and could communicate with us (e.g. were able to master a human natural language, such as English), then we might be tempted to treat members of this species as morally and/or legally entitled to the same rights as humans.

Consider, for example, the aliens Chewbacca and Yoda in the Star Wars movies. Neither Chewbacca nor Yoda is a member of the species homo sapiens, yet both are treated as the moral and legal equivalents of humans in the Star Wars universe.

Let us stipulate then, that term "human" is a biological term, which refers to all the members of the species homo sapiens and that the term "person" is a normative (legal, moral, or ethical) term, which refers to a moral and/or legal status that creatures or other bearers of human-like capacities can share with normal adult humans. "Human persons," then are members of the biological species with the relevant capabilities.

The categories of human and person are involved in some of the most contentious debates in moral, political, and legal theory. Prime among these is the abortion debate. One move that can be made in the abortion debate is simply to deny the distinction between human and person. So it might be the case that the relevant moral and legal category is "human person" and that all members of the species homo sapiens members of this category. Or it might be argued that "human" and "person" are morally and legally distinction categories. If so, it is possible that "fetuses" are unborn humans, but that they are not yet "persons," although they would be "potential persons" or "potential human persons."

There is more to be said about terminology, but I will conclude with two observations. Some of the debates about "persons" and "personhood" may reflect an ambiguity in the word "person." But it is at least possible that one of the senses of person (roughly the moral sense) is a contested concept--that is, there may be competing conceptions of the concept person. (See the Legal Theory Lexicon entry on the concept-conceptions distinction.)

Legal, Moral, and Natural Persons

So far, I have been treating the category of personhood or persons as a single category, but this need not be the case. We can distinguish between three kinds of persons--natural, moral, and legal. It is possible that the not all legal persons are natural persons and vice versa; the category of moral persons is clearly distinct from that of legal persons, but might be considered identical with the category of natural persons.

Examples will help. Corporations and governmental units are legal persons--they have legal rights and responsibilities and can sue and be sued, but we do not say that corporations are natural or moral persons. (More precisely, the claim that corporations are moral persons would be controversial.) A corporation is not a natural person, because it is nonnatural in the relevant sense. Corporations are artificial or nonnatural because they are the creations of the law. Likewise, all humans are usually considered "natural persons," but not all humans have the full bundle of rights and responsibilities associated with legal persons. For example, infants and incompetents may be unable to sue in their own name and may not bear full legal responsibility for their acts.

The discussion in the prior paragraph assumes that only individual humans are natural persons, but this assumption is controversial. If groups can have agency, then there might be persons constituted by groups of humans. This entry of the Legal Theory Lexicon simply brackets this assumption.

Legal Personhood

The classical discussion of the idea of legal personhood is found in John Chipman Gray's The Nature and Sources of the Law. He began his famous discussion, "In books of the Law, as in other books, and in common speech, 'person' is often used as meaning a human being, but the technical legal meaning of a 'person' is a subject of legal rights and duties." The question whether an entity should be considered a legal person is reducible to other questions about whether or not the entity can and should be made the subject of a set of legal rights and duties. The particular bundle of rights and duties that accompanies legal personhood varies with the nature of the entity. Both corporations and natural persons are legal persons, but they have different sets of legal rights and duties. Nonetheless, legal personhood is usually accompanied by the right to own property and the capacity to sue and be sued.

Gray reminds us that inanimate things have possessed legal rights at various times. Temples in Rome and church buildings in the middle ages were regarded as the subject of legal rights. Ancient Greek law and common law have even made objects the subject of legal duties. In admiralty, a ship itself becomes the subject of a proceeding in rem and can be found "guilty." Christopher Stone has recounted a twentieth-century Indian case in which counsel was appointed by an appellate court to represent a family idol in a dispute over who should have custody of it. The most familiar examples of legal persons that are not natural persons are business corporations and government entities.

Gray's discussion was critical of the notion that an inanimate thing might be considered a legal person. After all, what is the point of making a thing-- which can neither understand the law nor act on it--the subject of a legal duty? Moreover, he argued that even corporations are reducible to relations between the persons who own stock in them, manage them, and so forth. Thus, Gray insisted that calling a legal person a "person" involved a fiction unless the entity possessed "intelligence" and "will."

Can we say that corporations possess "intelligence" and "will"? The answer to that question is controversial among legal theorists. The orthodox position is that the corporation itself is a legal fiction; the humans who make up the corporation may have intelligence and will, but the corporation itself does not. But some might argue that the properties of the corporation are not reducible to the properties of the individuals who make up the corporation. Corporations may have "a mind of their own," at least according to some theorists.

Moral Personhood

"Legal personhood" is controversial, but "moral personhood" is one of the most contested ideas in contemporary legal, moral, and political theory. This large debate is not easy to summarize, but one of the crucial issues concerns the criteria for moral personhood. What attributes would make some life form (or even a robot) a moral person? Here are some of the possibilities:

Intelligence--One possibility is that the possession of "intelligence" (at some threshold level) is the criterion for moral personhood. Of course, "intelligence" itself is hardly a transparent concept.

Autonomy--Another idea is that persons must be capable of autonomy. But what is autonomy? One notion is that autonomous beings must be capable of second-order beliefs and motivations. That is, autonomy requires that one be able to have beliefs about one's beliefs and desires about one's desires.

Communication--Yet another possibility is that personhood requires the ability to communicate with others or to use language. On this criterion, it is possible that some higher primates might qualify for personhood--although the empirical evidence on primate use of human language is disputed.

Self-Awareness--Finally, some have argued that the criterion for moral personhood should be self-awareness or reflexive consciousness. To be a person, I must be aware of the my own consciousness.

This is not an exhaustive list of the criteria for moral personhood. Moreover, these criteria might be combined in various ways. For example, it might be argued that only an intelligent, autonomous, language-using, self-conscious being would be a full moral person.

Conclusion

"Personhood" is a fundamental notion for legal theorists. "Legal personhood" plays an important role in legal doctrine, and "moral personhood" plays a fundamental role in moral and political theory. The purpose of this post has been to give you a very rough sense of some of the issues that surround these concepts. More reading can be found in the bibliography.

Early on in law school, law students begin to realize that legal norms are not all cut from the same cloth. Some rules provide "bright lines," others "fuzzy lines," and yet others, no lines at all. The "reasonable person" test in tort law constrains in a very different way than does the rule against perpetuities in property. That is, legal norms differ in extent to which they constrain those who are charged with applying them.

We can slice and dice legal norms in various ways. In this post, we will investigate the idea that legal norms can be sorted into five general classes: rules, standards, principles, catalogs, and discretion. Let's stipulate to the following definitions to get the discussion off the ground:

Rules are the most constraining and rigid. Once a rule has been interpreted and the facts have been found, then the application of the rule to the facts decides the issue to which it is relevant (unless the case falls within the penumbra of a rule with vague content).

Standards provide an intermediate level of constraint. Standards guide decisions but provide a greater range of choice or discretion; standards define a set of mandatory considerations.

Principles are even less constraining. Principles provide mandatory considerations for judges. Whereas, standards identify an exhaustive set of considerations for adjudication or policy making, a principle identifies a member of a nonexhaustive set, leaving open the possibility that other unspecified considerations may be relevant to the decision.

Catalogs are a hybrid catalog. A catalog consists of a list of things that are within (or without) the legal norm, and then a sweepings clause, e.g., "and other things like this."

Discretion is a final option. The relevant legal norm may simply be a secondard rule that grants discretion to an official (frequently a judge).

This post provides an introduction to rules, standards, principles, catalogs, and discretion for law students (especially first-year law students) with an interest in legal theory.

Rules

Although the phrase "legal rule" can be used in a broad sense, to refer to all legal norms, whether they be cast in the form of a bright-line rule, a standard that is in the form of a balancing test, or even an abstract principle, there is also a narrower sense of "rule" that distinguishes rules from standards and principles.

Rules themselves vary--let's use hard and soft to refer to the poles of a continuum. A rule is harder if both the conditions for its application and the consequences that follow are defined by bright-line distinctions that admit of easy application. The rule that disqualifies persons who are not 35 years of age from eligibility for the Presidency of the United States is quite hard or rigid. Rules become softer as they criterion for the application and/or the consequences to which they lead become fuzzier. If the constitution had limited the presidency to "adults," then there could have been cases in which the question whether a particular candidate was unclear. Twelve-year olds are clearly not adults but twenty-five year olds clearly are. In between, the necessity of drawing a somewhat arbitrary line makes the "adult" rule relatively softer than the "35-year old" rule.

Standards

Standards are less constraining than even "soft" rules. Whereas a rule defines a triggering condition and a consequence, a standard may define a set of relevant considerations and options. One familiar example of a standard is provided by the fairness component of the International Shoe test for personal jurisdiction. That test requires a court to find that a state's assertion of personal jurisdiction violates the Due Process Clause on the basis of a give factor balancing test, which refers to the defendant's interest, the plaintiff's interest, the interest of the forum, judicial efficiency and economy, and substantive policy concerns.

Like rules, standards themselves vary in their capacity to guide and constrain the decision-making process. Some standards give the decision maker substantial guidance, by specifying relatively specific and concrete factors the decision maker should consider and the relative weight or importance of those factors. Other standards are much more open ended, requiring consideration of factors that are general and abstract. Standards that refer to "all the circumstances," "the interests of justice," or "equitable considerations" are particularly soft. Standards that require the evaluation of "cost to the defendant" or "serious invasions of privacy" are relatively harder, providing greater constraint and guidance.

By way of illustration, consider eligibility for the presidency once again. A rule based approach might limit eligibility to persons of a certain age or to "adults." A standard might specify that the only persons who are "sufficiently mature" may occupy the office of President. This standard is relatively open-ended, and it might disqualify some sixty-year olds from the presidency but allow some 20 year olds to serve.

Principles

Principles are quite different from both rules and standards--at least on the basis of the definitions that we are using. Both rules and standards provide a framework that is, in theory, sufficient for resolving a particular issue in a legal dispute. But as we are using the term, a "principle" only provides guidance for the interpretation or application of a rule or standard. Principles by themselves do not resolve legal issues.

This sense of principle is illustrated by Ronald Dworkin's example of the principle that no one should be allowed to profit from their own wrong, drawn from the case of Riggs v. Palmer, 22 N.E. 188 (N.Y. 1889). In that case, the statute of wills would have allowed a murderer to inherit from his victim, but the New York Court of Appeals concluded that the statute should be given an equitable interpretation in light of the common law principle against wrong doers profiting from their wrongs. This principle is not a rule: the law does permit wrong doers to profit from their wrongs in a variety of circumstances. Rather, this general and abstract principle provided guidance in the interpretation and construction of a rule--in Riggs, the rule provided by the statute of wills. (This example is drawn from Ronald Dworkin's famous essay Hard Cases.)

Catalogs

Catalogs can be seen as a compromise between rules and standards, with a twist. A catalog provides a list that function likes a rule, but then invites expansion of the list. For example, the Equine Activities Act provides that “No equine activity sponsor, equine professional, doctor of veterinary medicine, or any other person, is liable for an injury to or the death of a participant resulting from the inherent risks of equine activities.” Suppose that the act had instead said "or similar persons." Courts would then have been invited to engage in analogical reasoning to extend the catalog.

Discretion

Finally, many legql standards give discretion to a decision maker. For example, trial judges have discretionary power to decide how many witnesses a party may call on a particular issue. This decision will be upheld by an appellate court, unless it can be shown that the trial judge's decision was an "abuse of discretion." This standard of appellate review is highly deferential, but if the trial judge's decision was improperly motivated (e.g., by spite) or irrational, the decision can be reversed.

The Pros and Cons of Rules, Standards, and Principles

What are the pros and cons of rules, standards, and principles? When you have identified a candidate legal norm, when should you argue that the norm should be formulated as a rule, a standard, or a principle? In his famous 1985 article, Pierre Schlag provided this example:

In one torts casebook, for instance, Oliver Wendell Holmes and Benjamin Cardozo find themselves on opposite sides of a railroad crossing dispute. They disagree about what standard of conduct should define the obligations of a driver who comes to an unguarded railroad crossing. Holmes offers a rule: The driver must stop and look. Cardozo rejects the rule and instead offers a standard: The driver must act with reasonable caution. Which is the preferable approach? Holmes suggests that the requirements of due care at railroad crossings are clear and, therefore, it is appropriate to crystallize these obligations into a simple rule of law. Cardozo counters with scenarios in which it would be neither wise nor prudent for a driver to stop and look. Holmes might well have answered that Cardozo's scenarios are exceptions and that exceptions prove the rule. Indeed, Holmes might have parried by suggesting that the definition of a standard of conduct by means of a legal rule is predictable and certain, whereas standards and juries are not. This dispute could go on for quite some time.

Here are some basic ideas about the appropriateness of rules, standards, principles, catalogs, and discretion:

Predictability and certainty. If your goal is ex ante predictability and certainty, then rules are usually the way to go. Predictability and certainty are particularly important when the law seeks to guide future conduct. For example, if we want to deter particular forms of conduct, we may do better to define the conduct in a rule (or in a set of rules) that would enable those who engage in the conduct to clearly see that the proscribed conduct is forbidden. Standards provide less guidance, and principles, almost no guidance at all.

Fairness and sensitivity. On the other hand, if our goal is to insure ex post fairness, then standards may be the way to go. Standards permit flexibility and the consideration of mitigating circumstances. Rigid rules are likely to lead to unfairness in particular cases, because it may be difficult to define in advance all of the circumstances which should count as exceptions to the rule.

Complexity and Incommensurability. Some decisions involve very complex judgment calls that involve the application of multiple and incommensurable factors to particular situations that are highly varieagated or even unique. This is a situation where rules are unlikely to work well, and therefore standards or discretion seems appropriate.

The job of principles. Principles seem best suited for another sort of legal task. Principles cut across doctrinal fields. The same principle--one may not benefit from one's own wrong, for example--may apply in torts, contracts, and the law of wills. Thus, principles are particularly well suited to give legal form to concerns which operate in a wide variety of particular contexts.

Conclusion

Legal theorists need to be able to identify rules, standards, principles, catalogs, and discretion. More importantly, legal theorists need to be able to argue the pros and cons of formulating legal norms in these standard forms. The main goal of this post has been to enable you to distinguish a rule from a standard and to see that principles operate in a different way than either rules or principles. I also hope that the post has provided you with some tools that will enable you to make arguments like: “this rule would better be reformulated as a standard, because . . ." And arguments, like, “that legal norm really isn't a standard at all, it is better described as a principle.” I've provided some additional references, for those who want to pursue these ideas further.

One of the key ideas in contemporary economic theory in general and law and economics in particular is the social welfare function. Law students without a background in economics might be put off by the fact that social welfare functions are expressed in mathematical notation, but there is no reason to be intimidated. The basic ideas are easily grasped and the mathematical notation can be mastered in just a few minutes. This post provided an introduction to the idea of the social welfare function for law students, especially first year law students, with an interest in legal theory. Here we go!

Background

Normative Economics

The idea of a social welfare function is part of normative economics. There are several plausible formulations of normative economics, but almost all of normative economics begins with the fundamental idea of utility as a conception or measure of the good. Economists may disagree about the nature of utility, the relationship of utility to social welfare, and the role of welfare in public policy, but most (if not all) economists would assent to the abstract proposition that ceteris paribus more utility is a good thing. But this apparent agreement is at a very abstract and ambiguous level. There are many different ideas about what "utility" is.

Cardinal and Ordinal Interpretations of Utility

One key divide is between cardinal and ordinal interpretations of utility. An ordinal utility function for an individual consists of a rank ordering of possible states of affairs for that individual. An ordinal function tells us that individual i prefers possible world X to possible world Y, but it doesn't tell us whether X is much better than Y or only a little better.

A cardinal utility function yields a real-number value for each possible state of affairs. If we assume that utility functions yield values expressed in units of utility or utiles, then individual's utility function might score state of affairs P at 80 utiles and state of affairs Q at 120 utiles. We might represent the utility function U of individual i for P and Q as follows:

Ui(P) = 80

Ui(Q) = 120

The distinction between cardinal and ordinal utilities is potentially important for utilitarianism, at least on certain interpretations. As a theory of evaluation, utilitarianism is the view that an action is the best action if and only if the action maximizes utility when compared with all possible alternative actions. For technical reasons, utilitarianism requires both cardinality and full interpersonal comparability. This point about utilitarianism is closely related to the history of welfare economics, the explicitly normative branch of economic theory.

Measurement Problems

Both cardinality and interpersonal comparability pose measurement problems for economists. Even in the case of a single individual, it is difficult to reliability measure cardinal utilities. Measurements that support interpersonal comparisons are even more difficult to justify, and cardinal interpersonal comparisons seem to require the analyst (the person making the comparison) to make a variety of controversial value judgments. Market prices won't do as a proxy for utility, for a variety of reasons including wealth effects. The challenge for welfare economics was to develop a methodology that yields robust evaluations but does not require the use of cardinal interpersonally comparable utilities.

Pareto

This is the point at which Pareto arrives on the scene. Suppose that all the information we have about individual utilities is ordinal and non-interpersonally comparable. In other words, each individual can rank order states of affairs, but we (the analysts) cannot compare the rank orderings across persons. The weak Pareto principle suggests that possible world (state of affairs) P is socially preferable to possible world (state of affairs) Q, if everyone's ordinal ranking of P is higher than their ranking of Q. Weak Pareto doesn't get us very far, because such unanimity of preferences among all persons is rare. The strong Pareto principle suggests that possible world (state of affairs) P is socially preferable to possible world (state of affairs) Q, if at least one person ranks P higher than Q and no one ranks Q higher than P. Unlike weak Pareto, strong Pareto does permit some relatively robust conclusions.

The New Welfare Economics

The so-called new welfare economics was based on the insight that market transactions without uncompensated negative externalities satisfy strong Pareto. If the only difference between state P and state Q is that in P, individuals i1 and i2 engage in an exchange (money for widgets, chickens for shoes) where both prefer the result of the exchange, then the exchange is Pareto efficient. A state of affairs where no further Pareto efficient moves (or trades) are possible is called Pareto optimal. The assumption about externalities is, of course, crucial. If there are uncompensated negative externalities of any sort, then the trade is not Pareto efficient.

Weak Pareto and the Arrow Impossibility Theorem

Weak Pareto plus ordinal utility information allows some social states (or possible worlds) to be ranked on the basis of everyone's preferences. A method for transforming individual utility information into such a social ranking is called a social welfare function. Kenneth Arrow's famous impossibility theorem demonstrates that it is impossible to construct a social utility function that can transform individual ordinal rankings into a social ranking in cases not covered by weak Pareto, if certain plausible assumptions are made. Arrow's theorem has spurred two lines of development in welfare economics. One line of development relaxes various assumptions that Arrow made; for example, we might relax Arrow's assumption that the social ranking must be transitive (if X is preferred to Y and Y is preferred to Z, then X must be preferred to Z). The other line of development considers the possibility of allowing information other than individual, noncomparable ordinal utilities. It is this second line of development that is relevant to the use of social welfare functions in contemporary law and economics.

Social Welfare Functions

Suppose that we allow full interpersonal comparability and cardinal utility information. This is sufficient to support what are called Bergson-Samuelson utility functions, which have the form:

W(x) = F (U1(x), U2(x), . . . UN(x))

Where

W(x) represents a real number social utility value for some state of affairs (or possible world) X,

F is some increasing function that yields a real number,

U1(x) is a cardinal, interpersonally comparable utility value yielded by some procedure for individual 1 for state of affairs X, and

N is the total number of individuals.

Bergson-Samuelson social welfare functions are named after Paul Samuelson and Avram Bergson.

What Are the Plausible Social Welfare Functions?

There are a variety of different possible functions that can be substituted for F. Here are some of the most important possibilities:

Classical-utilitarian SWF--We could substitute summation for F, and simply add the individual utility values; this is sometimes called a Benthamite or classical-utilitarian social welfare function. This function is famously associated with Jeremy Bentham. The classical utility social welfare function can be represented as follows:

W(x)=U1(x) + U2(x) + U(3(x) . . . Un(x)

Average-utilitarian SWF--The classical SWF adds the utilities. This raises some very interesting issues when the different states of the world (x or y) have different population sizes. When deciding whether to add additional individuals, the classical-utilitarian SWF says more is better until we reach the point where adding more actually reduces the overall level of utility. One way to avoid this implication is use the average level of utility instead of the sum, as in the following formula:

W(x)=[U1(x) + U2(x) + U(3(x) . . . Un(x)]/n

In other words, we divide the sum of utilities by the number of individuals!

Bernoulli-Nash SWF--In the alternative, we could substitute the product function (¡Ç) and multiply individual utilities. This is sometimes called a Bernoulli-Nash social welfare function, which can be represented as follows:

W(x)=U1(x) * U2(x) * U(3(x) . . . Un(x)

Rather than adding individual utilities, we multiply them! And yes, the "Nash" in Bernoulli-Nash is John Nash of "A Beautiful Mind" and Nobel-prize fame. This social welfare function has implications for equality; where utilities are multiplied rather than added or averages, the function favors equal distributions over unequal ones.

What About the Problem of Interpersonal Comparison?

Social welfare functions are much discussed in legal theory these days. One of the reasons for the contemporary debate over social welfare functions is that this approach has been championed by Louis Kaplow and Steven Shavell (both of the Harvard Law School). Their book, Welfare versus Fairness, put the welfarist approach to normative economics "front and center."

One of the interesting theoretical questons about SWFs concerns the problem of interpersonal comparison. How do we get the values to plug into U1(x), U2(x), and so forth. That is, how do we compare up with a way of putting my utility and your utility on the same scale. As I understand the state of play, this is not a topic on which economists agree. Some economists believe that there is no objective way of producing interpersonally comparable cardinal utility values. But some economists believe that a third-party (the legal analyst or the economist) can do the job of assigning values to individual utilities.

Conclusion

We've barely begun to scratch the surface of the many interesting theoretical issues that attend the use of social welfare functions in legal theory. Some of those issues were explored in a prior Legal Theory Lexicon entry on Balancing Tests. Even if you have absolutely no background in economics, there is no reason to shy away from the debates about social welfare functions. The notation, although at first intimidating, is actually very simple. The foundational ideas, although sometimes articulated in the jargon of economic theory, really go to fundamental questions in moral theory. I hope this post has given you the tools to begin to discuss these ideas!